


Scars of the Past

by lattelibrapunk, starsandstreams



Series: Then, Now, and Always [1]
Category: Scorpion (TV 2014)
Genre: (Nothing graphic though), Beginnings of Quintis being best friends, F/M, Fear of Santa Anas, Happy backstory, Part I of our finale aftermath series, mentions of physical and emotional abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 13:20:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7978135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lattelibrapunk/pseuds/lattelibrapunk, https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsandstreams/pseuds/starsandstreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Happy is tough as nails and not afraid of anything, that people know. The Santa Ana winds have terrified her since she was a child and still do, and when she's alone to deal with them, she retreats into herself. But with a certain Doc by her side, she's able to bluster her way through the fear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scars of the Past

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a 2.24 aftermath series Tara (lattelibrapunk) and I have been working on.

_The past beats inside me like a second heart._

__\- John Banville, The Sea_ _

 

* * *

* * *

_April 2013_

Happy shivered as the Santa Ana winds swept through L.A. and the garage again, ironically enough given that the winds were at their hottest in years. She knew it wasn’t because of the weather, the weather she could handle without a problem. It was all rational, the winds were just a result of a pressure gradient- the high pressure in the Great Basin, the clockwise flow of air that blew them into the L.A. Basin from the northeast and the east, and the adiabatic heating that warmed them up. 

What was never rational to her was how easily people let you down.

* * *

  _October, 1991_

_She was just four, and still at her first foster home. The parents had brought the kids out to the nearby park to ‘enjoy themselves,’ a poorly concealed lie for letting the children loose while they hopped up on booze and whatever else they could get their hands on. Usually it was fine, the other kids were fairly nice to her, but this time was different._

_She could swear that she saw a red truck sitting in the distance._

_It was too far away for her to see if the fender was dented, but a quick glance around her ‘family’ reaffirmed her notion that nobody would miss her if she ran off quickly to check._

_She ran as fast as her little legs and too-small jeans allowed her, but even after what seemed like forever, she didn’t come up to the truck._ Maybe he doesn’t want me to come home yet so he left when he saw me coming, _she reasoned to herself and turned to head back to the clearing, only to be faced with a wall of flying leaves and a landscape completely different than the one she had just come from._

_It took them over an two hours to find her, and it was already growing dark when the EMTs passed her back to her foster parents, whose faces were red with crocodile tears, sobbing over “their little miracle.” But they handed her back to the social worker the very next working day, and so she decided, at an age supposed to be defined by princesses and magic, that miracles were never as good as advertised._

_(She would only truly get over her fear of the woods twenty four years later, after saving a bunch of kids from the same fate, this time surrounded and supported by her real family, and the man who loves her more than life itself.)_

 

_September, 1999_

_She’s twelve now, already hardened by the system and figuring she’d be perfectly fine if she could just have her tools and never have to speak to another human again. She had come home late from school- there was no point of heading back to that hell hole so fast, and especially not when the elderly junkyard watchman who took kindly to her had just informed her of a new dump of scraps she could dig through._

_It was nearing six when she finally dragged her feet through the door, backpack full of as many tools and knick knacks she could fit in there. Her foster father was waiting for her in the living room, belt already in hand to whip her, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. The only outcome if she reacted was yet another visit to the obnoxious doctor, who was obviously on her foster parent’s side, to tell her that physical wounds heal quickly, “_ so don’t worry kiddo, you’ll be just fine.”

_She dropped her backpack by the couch and let him take out all of his issues on her, until he got sick of her and hauled her to her room, suddenly just hers after the other girl was sent back a few days earlier. She realised too late that she had left her backpack outside, but before she could run out and get it, a burst of the Santa Anas blew in through her window and slammed the door shut, the deadbolt clicking into place from the outside._

_She waited for things to calm down before picking the lock (they didn't need to know she could do that) and crept out to grab her bag from the living room, where her foster parents were passed out in front of the television. She sighed as she realized they had wiped all the precious things she had salvaged from the junkyard. Again. Typical. At least they had the decency to leave her books alone this time._

_The newscaster on screen was saying how the next program would be a special on ‘genius’ kids- she rolled her eyes,_ normals and their loose definition of the word- _around the country with great achievements.  There was apparently one kid who had just received an Ivy League doctorate while his peers were still struggling with their drivers ed. The story might have piqued her interest if she had watched it, but the program suddenly cut to breaking news of how some high-tech, precision-guided bombs were being dropped halfway across the world._

_Happy felt bad for the victims, but shrugged and turned off the television. Everybody’s lives sucked, just to a different degree. Her own life was bad enough as it was, she figured, without her ever having to give a second thought about a bunch of dead civilians in Baghdad._

 

_March, 2004_

_She was in high school now, going through school work with almost no effort at all, and spending her days at whichever auto body shops were willing to hire her. This was the first time in her life that she was counting down the days to her birthday- but not to throw a slutty party like the ones all her classmates were having but had never invited her to. Instead, she had been working painstakingly hard to be able to graduate a year early, and to keep a good financial record, so she could apply for emancipation the moment she turned seventeen._

_Oceanside University-_ such a stupid name, who would ever go there?- _was having a recruitment fair of sorts, and Happy had barely made it out of the building when a swarm of girls cloaked in pink, white, and gold-_ kill me if I ever voluntarily step foot near them again, _she swore to whoever was listening_ \- _surrounded her, thrusting various leaflets in her face and unnecessarily squealing about the “amazing sisterhood in Pi Up!” She was about to punch the yappiest one in the face, when the winds blew through their booth, sending everything flying into a disgustingly pink vortex._

_Happy bit back a smile, this was the first time the Santa Anas had worked in her favour, and she gladly skipped away from the gaggle of prep girls. The winds blew her baseball hat off her head though, but before she could bend down to get it, another Pi Up girl picked it up for her._ This one is decidedly more sane, _Happy judged,_ though her being super pregnant probably has something to do with it.

_She might have bothered with giving her a thank you but the other girl was gone before she looked up again. Happy didn’t stress too much about it, looking forward to heading over to Marco’s and working on the car he promised her free reign on, when someone calling her name stopped her. Turning around, she had to hide the groan that almost escaped her as Dylan ran up to her. He was a senior she had hooked up with at a party she snuck into once, and he had asked her out a few times after. He was sweet enough that she had accepted, and when he started calling themselves a couple, she let it slide, though she didn’t believe in labels or relationships or that whole true love nonsense._

_Dylan technically had his own parents, but they had been in and out of jail and rehab enough times to make his life almost as bad as hers. He held up a flier as he caught up with her._

_“I know you’re not thinking about college after you graduate, but did you know that you’re eligible for more FAFSA subsidies if you’re married?”_

* * *

Happy snapped herself out of her memories, glancing around the garage to make sure nobody had seen her.

No one had.

For the first time ever, Toby seemed to have actually listened to her demanding him to leave her alone, although even Happy Quinn could only deny so much that having Toby beside her might have made the winds a bit more bearable. Forcing those thoughts aside, she tried to focus again on her project, until a piece of paper flittering onto the floor caught her eye.  

“What are you doing?” She asked cautiously, not sure if she wanted in on Toby's latest ‘fun’ idea, but he just grinned as he sauntered over to her, gripping a stack of paper.

“Paper airplanes,” he quipped lightly. “You know the kind that kids throw across the classroom to pass notes to each other? I never got to do that though, I never had any friends to pass notes to. But I did intercept a few in my day, and let me tell you-” He stopped as he noticed her shooting him the exasperated look he had come to know all too well.

“Right. So, anyway, I figured why not relive my childhood? The air is usually too still to have any fun but now that the winds are here, we can really get into the action.” He had somehow been folding another plane while babbling, and held it up proudly as he finished.

Happy stared at the floppy structure Toby was dangling in her face. “Wow, how did you manage to get that thing run over by a truck _before_ flying it?”

Toby pouted as he studied the plane. “I told you, I didn't have any friends to pass notes to, so I never learnt how to make them properly when I was young.”

“You call yourself a genius and you can't even fold a paper airplane?”

“Well, I'm not a mechanical genius so you really can't hold it against me.” Toby paused for a beat before grinning. “But you are!” He slid a piece of paper over to her. “So why don't you try?”

Happy's grip was already tightening around her wrench to threaten him to bugger off, but a particularly strong gust knocked over something upstairs and she jumped. Her panicked gaze only calmed when it came to rest on Toby, still smiling expectantly at her like nothing had happened, and she relented.

Toby noticeably brightened, watching her as she expertly folded the sheet of paper and produced a perfect airplane in a matter of seconds. She threw it, and it flew a perfect arc before coming to rest on the kitchen table. “That good enough for you?”

“That's amazing!” Toby's eyes were shining as he looked at her. “Show me how to do that?”

Happy was about to retort, but Toby looked so eager and hopeful and _genuine_ that she sighed and nodded, grabbing a new piece of paper.

“Fine, but if Walt starts asking where the printer paper went, it's all on you.”

It took almost the whole stack, and plenty of Happy’s snarky comments in the style of, “Are you always this slow to pick up simple things or are you being stupid on purpose?” But, when they finally looked up, 35 minutes and 14 fairly decent planes by Toby later, Happy realised that she hadn't even noticed when Sylvester’s precious cup of pencils had been knocked over by the winds.

Toby realised the same and smiled to himself. Distracting her from the winds had the been the whole reason behind this paper plane fiasco after all.

* * *

_March, 2012_

_Toby looked up after finishing his latest psych journal to realize that the garage had gone deathly quiet. Sylvester was busy in his own world, surrounding himself in his algorithms and equations almost as a safety blanket, while Walter and Collins were probably down the rabbit hole somewhere in the loft. What was concerning was how the usual hammering sounds from Happy’s back workstation had died down._

The only time she stops working is to throw something at me, _he mused as he got up to go check on her. It had the potential to become a suicide mission, but Happy was quickly becoming his closest friend and he felt it was his duty to make sure that she was okay._

_He turned the corner to see the back room look as if a tornado had hit._ The Santa Ana winds are as close as we’re ever going to get to a real tornado anyway, so close enough. _Papers and other light items were strewn across the room but Happy was nowhere to be found, her latest project abandoned on the workbench. Toby stepped into the room cautiously, picking up whatever he could as he searched for her._

_He heard her heavy breathing before he saw her, at a dark corner of the room that he barely knew existed, forehead resting against the chain link fence she was gripping tightly, as she struggled to calm herself down. Toby wanted nothing more than to walk up to her and rub her back and ask her what had happened, but he respected her privacy (and his life) enough to ‘accidentally’ bump into something and curse loudly enough for her to hear._

_Sure enough, Happy walked out seconds later, her usual mask of annoyance and vague disinterest hardened on her face. “What do you want?” She eyed him and he raised his hands up as if in surrender._

_“Was heading to the kitchen when I saw this place looking like a nuke had been dropped on it. Wanted to make sure you weren't becoming as nuts as the super-geniuses in the loft,” he joked, rolling his eyes up to where Walter and Collins were no doubt becoming crazier by the second._

_A deeper anger than usual set in Happy’s face. “If a nuke had been dropped here, you'd be incinerated, idiot. And don't you dare compare me to_ him _.” Happy didn't have to use proper names for Toby to know whom she was talking about._

_“Fair enough,” he conceded before taking a breath and looking at her. “So, what’s up?”_

_She shot him her_ you-have-five-seconds-before-I-throw-a-wrench _look, but before she could retort, a strong gust of wind blew through the wide open back door of the garage, sending papers flying again, and upsetting a can of screws left on a table. Happy jumped at the sound of clanging metal, her breathing picking up again. Toby didn’t need his training to know that it was far deeper than just the startle-response that biology dictated. The noise wasn’t remotely near 140dB._

_“You okay?” He dared cautiously._

_Her reply was immediate and nothing short of the usual “I will be when you get out of my workspace,” as she pushed past him to walk back to the workbench._

_“Cool... have fun.” Toby was beyond concerned, but knew better than to push her and moved to get out of her way. “I’ll call you when it’s time to break up the Mad Hatters’ tea party upstairs.”_

_Her response was essentially a growl, but Toby didn’t miss the way she subconsciously pulled her jacket tighter and hugged herself as the winds blew stronger around the garage._

* * *

“Too many obstacles here,” Toby mentioned casually, looking around the garage. “Wanna go up to the roof to fly these?”

Happy raised an eyebrow at him.

“Well it’s either that, or I keep playing with these inside here and they might just keep _accidentally_ landing on your table and disturbing you.”

“What, your bookies don’t give you enough near death experiences that you need them from me as well?”

He shrugged casually. “You’re prettier.”

“Prettier than your bookies? Wow, you really know your flattery, don’t you?” she dragged dryly, though she couldn’t ignore that… _something_ that sparked inside her at his comment. _Maybe now that Amy is out of the picture and Walter is stable again-_ woah.

Happy had been allowing herself to maybe think of Toby as more than just a friend, but before she could ever get too far, Dylan’s existence would keep coming up from the recesses of her mind, and she forced herself to believe that they would never work. _Who had ever heard of two messed-up geniuses working out, anyway… right?_

“You coming or do I have to do this on my own?” Toby’s voice broke her out of her thoughts, and she looked up to see him precariously balancing all the planes in his arms, already halfway up the stairs.

For the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to go and have some pure, unadulterated fun with the guy who was fast becoming her best friend, and she realized that maybe the winds weren’t always so bad after all.

* * *

  _April 2016_

Happy found herself back on the roof with Toby as the Santa Anas swirled around them. The only break from tradition this year was the obvious lack of paper airplanes- they didn't need them as a buffer anymore, all the comfort they needed they could openly find in each other now. She tensed as the winds knocked something over downstairs, followed by a faint, “Oh, come on!” from Sylvester, and Toby silently pulled her even closer, pressing soft kisses to her temple and cheek until she relaxed against him again.

“You do remember how we survived a F4 tornado just a few days ago, right? This is like a kiddy pool in comparison.” He teased, hoping to nudge her into a banter than would take her mind off the winds.

She elbowed him lightly, rolling her eyes at his, “Ow, my alveoli!” but continued to let him believe that the only reason she had been so on edge recently was the start of the winds. She had no doubt that if it were anyone else he'd have seen right through them a long time ago, but he had such unquestioning faith and trust in her, and it was breaking her to keep _it_ from him. His hands seemed to weigh a ton as they protectively covered hers, especially when he would gently rub his thumb over her knuckles from time to time, his focusing on her left ring finger being the furthest thing from subtlety.

She felt like she was going to physically be sick if she kept silent about this any longer. Spending a few more seconds to really memorize how his arms felt around her- how perfectly they fit into each other- in case he never let her in again, she took a deep breath and turned in his arms to face him.

“Toby?”

He answered her by bopping a quick but gentle kiss to the tip of her nose.

“Sorry, love,” he laughed, “but you look so beautiful with the winds in your hair. Just like in Vietnam, only we were a bit too busy trying not to die for me to do this.”

She blinked, feeling tears already stinging the back of her eyes at how she was about to shatter his innocent bliss in just a few seconds.

“But yes, you were saying?”

Happy turned fully to really look at him, the love shining bright in his eyes, the expectant smile on his face as he waited for her to speak, his short curls being tousled by the wind, and the words died in her throat.

“I, uh, thanks, Doc.” She settled for the lame cop out, hoping only she could hear how shaky her voice was, “For… for this, all these years. ”

His face split into that signature grin whenever she said something he couldn't believe, and pulled her even closer into a warm, safe embrace, his hand cupping the back of her neck. “Any time, sweetheart. I love you. Always.”

* * *

* * *

_Still, the hardest thing is being unable to produce the words your mind has been screaming for so long._

__\- Unknown_ _

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> We'd been planning this series since June, and now we've finally gotten around to posting it. Hope you guys liked this intro Part I, and stay tuned for Parts II and III!
> 
> Reviews/comments are always appreciated if you have the time (:  
> Love you guys!


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